I wrote this randomly one night. Just a small random story about a girl who is kinda shallow, but it was just an interesting thought i guess I had. Not my best story ever, but hope you like it.

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When I was younger, I used to go to a nail salon and get acrylic nails and tips with bright colors. I would sit for an hour and let someone work on my hands and make them beautiful. I write this story about one of the people there that holds particular interest to me.

I believe his name was Lee. Lee-Chung. He once told me the name Lee was like what Americans would consider a last name but Chung was not as simple as Lee and I could call him that if I wished. Lee was a pure blood Korean. His English was not very good but I learned to understand him. The first time I went to get my nails done, he did them for me and I was surprised at how quick and efficient he was. His hands were deft, painting my nails in an even and shimmering coat in a few minutes without a mark upon my skin.

“You chew nails? Very bad for hands. Very bad,” he murmured. I blushed, embarrassed. “Ah yes, it’s a bad habit. That’s why I want tips put on.” He nodded and began filing my nails in his cool hands.  “You are asian, no?” He asked me. I smiled and nodded as he looked over my fingers. “Yes, I am Chinese, though I was adopted.” “Ah I see. I could tell you are asian,” he said satisfactorily. “You want art on nails after tips?” “Yes please. This design right here.” And so he did, and did it well. 

After a few weeks I had to get them redone before the acrylic and the paint on my nails wore off. Pushed for time I went to a salon closer to my apartment. I did not like it there. The lady who did my nails that day pulled harshly on my fingers and at one point actually made me bleed because the electric nail buffer slipped. She apologized profusely but I was annoyed. It was definitely a day ruiner. 

The next time I went in I made sure to go back to the man who had done my nails the first time. He smiled when he saw me, his eyes crinkling softly as he saw me. “Ah, the nail-biter. You are back.” “Yes. I’d like a fill please and then red nail polish. Thanks Mr...?” “You call me Lee, but bigger or umm, fuller name is Lee-Chung,” he said in halting English, as he led me to a table. A lady next to me was also getting her nails done and she spoke to me and both of our nail technicians, her wide eyes bright and cheery. “Yeah I come in here every other week. These two do wonderful jobs on my nails!” The technicians would murmur their thanks on her compliments and continue their work. 

One time when I went in I noticed a picture of a cute little girl sitting on the Lee’s desk. “Who is that?” I asked, curious. His eyes seemed to brighten a little at the sight of the photograph. “That is my daughter. She is thirteen years old. Name is Jin. I name her Lee-Hee meaning joyful after my mother.” She was an adorable little girl and I told him so. He nodded eagerly, his eyes straying often to the picture of the smiling girl.

I continued to go in to get my nails done for years, always going to Lee and booking appointments to make sure I got him. I became a regular and he was always ready for me when I got there with my favorite colors and tips I’d tell him ahead of time. After I graduated high school I went to a community college in town and continued to go in to Lee. He would always remember me, though one day I recall that he looked tired, though I shrugged it off then. 

“How are you today miss?” “I’m good, thank you.” He began to paint my nails but his fingers felt stiff and dry around and not as fluently skillful as usual. I did not notice then, but now looking back, I realize there had always been small signs of his aging when he did my nails. He began to swiftly put a top coat on my nails when he suddenly stiffened and winced as arthritis flared in his fingers. “Are you all right?” I asked, worried that he would stop painting my nails. He discreetly clenched and unclenched his hand while nodding to me. “I am fine. Go dry nails over there.” I left that day, not knowing that would be the last time I saw him. I never realized how old Lee-Chung really was, but he was almost as old as my grandfather. It was a wonder that he stayed in the nail business so long.

After that I became busy with school, work, and athletics. I stopped going to the nail salon for a few months and never kept up with my nails. One Monday I decided to go back and get my nails redone. They had been ragged for weeks from my return to the bad habit of nail biting, so I was glad I was going to have them looking nice again. When I got there, I looked for Lee but didn’t see him. I thought that maybe I should have made an appointment.

“Excuse me,” I asked an unfamiliar blonde girl working the cash register, “Do you know where Lee is or when he will be back? The girl looked at me blankly. I guessed she must be new. I’d never seen her before, she was young and naive and simply shrugged at my question. I turned to an asian woman I recognized, who was doing someone’s nails. 

“Hello, do you know when I can schedule an appointment with Lee?” The pained look on her face confused me. “Did Lee quit working here or something?” “I am sorry. Lee-Chung passed away many days ago. He not have good heart you see.” She turned her eyes away and I could see a sheen of tears spring up in them. “I-I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I-I should probably go.” I turned and walked away, feeling awful for bringing up such a sorrowful subject. I felt sorrow at not knowing of his death, though I had not known him well. 

“Wait miss. You his friend?” I turned to see the woman coming towards me and I started to say, “I didn’t know him”, when she spoke again. “I give you time of funeral. His family go say goodbye next week at Shellington’s Funeral Home. Here, you take card.” She handed me a small cream colored card before I could refuse and so I took it at her earnest gesture. I felt it would be awkward to refuse the card, but couldn’t possibly see how I would go to his funeral when I didn’t even know him or his family. “Thank you very much, I’ll try.” 

I walked slowly, my mind suddenly blank. What was wrong with me? Why was I so concerned over one man’s death? A man who I didn’t even know? But then, why didn’t I know him? I’d spent hours sitting in a chair across from him, talking to him, but I didn’t even know anything about him.

I don’t know why I did this, but I went to that funeral. It was a rainy day, the sky dark and gloomy, seeming as forlorn and bleak as I did. I’d like to think that God was crying for Lee along with the small crowd at the funeral was. As far as I could tell, everyone there besides myself was Korean, though there were only ten or fifteen gathered all together. I wore a black dress with simple jewelry, but I felt out of place. Everyone there was dressed much simpler than I and I know they could tell I was out of place. A few of them wore white caps and a robe-like garb and I learned later that these were the close relatives and family members wearing their mourning dress. 

I could see that this was not an ordinary funeral, and the way they paid their respects to the deceased was different from the few funerals I had seen before. At the grave site banners with golden dragons and Korean symbols were placed around the coffin. I stood in the line to view it. When I stepped up, I saw Lee-Chung lying there as though he were simply asleep. Someone had dressed him in traditional Korean attire and folded his hands into his lap. He looked peaceful, his eyes closed and the wrinkles on his forehead were relaxed. His hands did not bear any marks of nail polish or work, and any callouses and scars hidden with makeup and clothing. The few wisps of hair he had were carefully combed to the side and any paleness in his face was masked with powder.

I stepped away as the other people moved forward.  Most of them murmured prayers or laid little gifts like flowers beside him but I had nothing to give him but a small “thank you” that I whispered to the empty air as I turned away. I don’t know why I said thank you. He had done my nails, but I had never really known him personally. Part of me wished I had. What was his story? Who was he? What were his joys and sorrows, his fears and dreams?

A sad young woman in mourning dress stood in front of the coffin after most people had gone through and began to sing. Her voice was not extraordinary, but the emotion behind it was piercing. I did not understand the words because she sang in Korean, but the lilting, mournful song touched me. After it was over many wept silently, and some began to wail loudly and sing another dirge to the deceased man. Hired workers silently carried the casket into a hole that had been dug. Then an older man limped up to the casket with a cane, his movements slow and difficult. He sprinkled some dirt over the casket and bowed reverently before turning around. A sixteen year old girl sadly did the same, her face a mask of pain as a couple others who I guessed were family did it as well. Then the workers finished burying the casket and it was over. 

No one moved to leave and so I stood there silently. I felt hot tears prick my eyes and I blinked, allowing them to overflow down my cheeks. “How did you know him, my daughter?” A kind old woman looked at my tears with sympathy, tears rolling down her own cheeks. “I didn’t really-well, he did my nails,” I said lamely. “I didn’t know him much beyond that.” She smiled a sad smile, her small eyes crinkling at the edges of her wrinkled brow. “That’s all right. My Chung would be glad to see you at his funeral I am sure. He was a kind man and would have spoken of such a nice girl as you fondly.” She was his mother, I realized, Hee-jin. “I am so sorry for your loss,” I said quietly. “Thank you, but I do not see loss. True, I will miss him, but he is in better place now.” A look of serenity passed over her face and the sorrow seemed not so prominent on her aged face.

We talked for a while, me and Jin, as she said I should call her. Her English was much better than Lee’s had been and we conversed fairly easily. She told me how she and his father had emigrated to America after the Korean War. Her sister had come to the United States as a bride for an American soldier and became a permanent resident of America and so she and her husband had followed the promises of a new land. With two daughters and one son, they had a difficult time keeping up with rent and food and Lee had had many odd jobs when he was young to help support the family of five. His two older sisters also took many jobs but could not do as much or find good jobs. Eventually both girls moved back to Korea with arranged marriages and Lee graduated from high school. His grades were above average for the most part but his language and communication skills were poor.

He had considered going to a college but the expense was too great and he was still supporting his parents with three part time jobs. Eventually a close American friend of the family showed him a school teaching nail technician skills and he took it instantly when they offered to sponsor his full ride to the year long course. It was there that I could speak of my knowledge of him. “He was a very good nail technician. He always did my nails wonderfully.” As I spoke I saw her glance at my ragged nails. “I haven’t had them done in awhile,” I said, embarrassed. “When I went in the last time I found out about Lee’s death and couldn’t bring myself to stay.” I gulped, wondering if it was wrong to speak of his death so blatantly. “You should not chew your nails. Lee was always very adamant that I make sure my nails were well kept.” She chuckled softly, showing me her own neatly kept nails and I smiled with her. 

“Will you come to the dinner tonight with the rest of the family? There are not many who would mourn my son's death. He did not know many people,” She asked me, her eyes inviting me with a genuine look of interest. “I’m sorry, I can’t.”  I felt bad for saying no, but I didn’t think I should intrude on an intimate family dinner. I made an excuse about work and she simply nodded. "I am grateful you came. That someone beyond his family came to wish him farewell on his day of release from this earth." I needed time to clear my head so after allowing her to introduce me to her husband and making small talk with them, I bid them goodbye and made my exit. As I walked to my car it began to pour and I scolded myself for not bringing an umbrella. I gave up trying to cover my head and for a minute I just stood there next to my car, letting rain wash over me. The smell of earth and rain was almost calming. Salty tears mixed in with cool water and ran down my cheeks. “Goodbye Lee-Chung. I’m sorry I never knew you.”

That was years ago. You may ask why I decided to write about this now after so long. To be honest, I am not sure either. It is just one man, one person in my life that was gone so quickly. I didn’t know him besides him being the person I went to for nail work. Lee-Chung was special though. He was special to his mother, his father, to others who he has known in his lifetime. 

Life goes so quickly. There are so many people in this world, each with their own story. We pass many of them everyday, work with them, have our nails done by them etc. And still, I regret not taking the time to get to know people when I could have. All of those opportunities, all those lives that I just let pass by. Maybe it is now that I am older than I begin to see all of the missed opportunities. All of the times I could have done things whereas now I am too old. I wrote this so that I can remember. So that he can be remembered when no one else does. I don’t know what else to say on this page, only that my hands are beginning to shake from writing so much and I must stop.